Lovely Ladies
by LyonessaStark
Summary: Nursing a broken heart, the Vicomte de Chagny arrives in Louisiana to settle a manor his deceased cousin has left him, and finds a young woman who is a blast from his past. Together, they must solve a mystery, and put a young bride to peaceful rest.
1. Prologue

**_ A broken heart. A secret that made her flee. _**

**_And a secret that hangs in the attic, which reveals a young bride's sorrow._**

**This is an alternate universe tale, in which Meg was the one tutored by the Phantom, and she won both the hearts of the Phantom and the Vicomte. Think of all the events as they happened in canon, but with Meg in place of Christine. ****The prologue sets up what happened to Christine.**

**There is some slight influence of Les Miserables, as well as a bit of crossover, and there is a bit of crossover with Disney's Cinderella 2015 and Little Mermaid.**

* * *

_May 17, 1871._

''You sell your body to a man so your child can live.'' Christine Daae thinks to herself. She had such a promising career in the Paris Opera House. A ballet dancer in the corps, possibly soon to be prima ballerina.

Then the Baron De Villiers had noticed her. At first she had been so happy with his attentions, thinking that she might be noticed. Like her dear friend Meg by the Vicomte de Chagny. He and Meg shall be very happy together, she is sure.

And then one night, after a performance, the Baron had deflowered her, and he'd left her.

Christine had left right after Il Muto, and she'd come here, to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and birthed Gustave five months ago, in December. She hopes Meg will be happy, as she knows she herself will never be.


	2. 1:Times gone by

**Raoul is 29, and Christine is 22. When I watched the 2012 movie of Les Miserables, I thought that Cosette and Marius looked very much like Raoul's parents, and so I made him their son.**

**Cosette is 58, and Marius is 61.**

**Euphrasie and Camille are my ocs. For those who have never read the book, Euphrasie is Cosette's real name, but the musical omitted that. So I named their daughter that.**

**Euphrasie is portrayed by Mia W****asikowska, and Camille is portrayed by Ellie Bamber.**

* * *

_April 12, 1875._

All Raoul de Chagny can do is smile and tell dear, sweet Meg how beautiful her child is, only wishing deep in his heart that the child is his.

Five years ago, his dear Meg had broken off their engagement upon realizing that she had loved the Phantom, whom her her mother had hidden away from the mob that had come after him, and she had wed the Phantom, whom he now knows has a name: Erik Destler.

Marguerite Giry is Marguerite Destler now, he thinks. And she looks so happy, as a married woman. Their child has her beautiful sky-blue eyes, and her father's light brown hair, and Meg has called her Melodie.

He wonders how she has lived her life during the five years he's been away. After fighting in the war, he went on the expedition to Antarctica, and had returned last year. Still, he had avoided seeing Meg though. Before he leaves, he walks over and hugs her, signifying he has finally accepted her choice.

''Do not hate me, Raoul.'' Meg looks up at him, with earnest blue eyes.

''I don't, truly, Meg. I'm happy for you.'' he smiles at her.

''Erik loves me so. And I love him.'' Meg tells him, before returning to her husband's side, and gazing up lovingly into his eyes, the irises golden like a cat's.

''What will you do now, Vicomte?'' Madame Giry asks from behind him. He shrugs, turns to face her. ''My relative in America left me his mansion when he died last year. So I'll be leaving for America shortly. I do wish your daughter and the Opera Populaire good-luck.''

''Good luck to you too, Vicomte.''

Raoul turns and walks away, returning to his carriage, sparing a final glance at the girl he had once loved.

**XXX**

''Raoul, you won't forget to write.'' Cosette Pontmercy begs her son worriedly. She will miss him so!

''Mama, I shall be fine. If I can spend two years in Antarctica, I shall be fine. And I do promise to write.'' Raoul responds, packing his clothes away.

Cosette has missed her little boy so over the past years. First he had changed his name to De Chagny, an old name from Marius's family tree, and left the house, and now he is moving again.

He lifts the suitcase off the bed, and embraces her. ''Promise me you'll write, Mama. And Papa too.''

My little Raoul, she thinks. My little Raoul Jean Pontmercy. And in an hour or two he is gone from her life once more, with a promise on both sides to write.

Marius comes to stand next to her. ''Raoul reminds me of them. He has Grantaire's love of life, Eponine's intelligence, and like Enjolras, he shares a love for something so passionate he forgets about everything else.'' There is a sadness in his voice, as she knows her husband misses his friends from the barricade, that sometimes he wishes he had died alongside them, and he would, if Papa had not rescued him.

''It's alright, dear.'' she reassures him, resting a hand on his shoulder.'' At least there are no barricades in New Orleans.''

Marius sighs. ''I know.''

Euphrasie, their youngest daughter, comes through the door. ''Maman, Papa, where's Raoul? I looked all over the house!''

''Dearest, darling daughter,'' Cosette begins, rather unsure how to explain to their youngest daughter that she might not see her brother again for some time, ''Raoul's gone to New Orleans. To America.''

''Why, Maman? Has something happened?'' Poor Euphrasie. Raoul decided to leave without saying good-bye to her, and she was always his favorite sister. Besides, she is only 15 years of age, and there are many things in the world she does not know.

''No, dear.'' Cosette explains, while Marius watches out the window. ''Nothing's happened. Your brother's gone to America because a relative of ours died, and left him his house. So he's going to live there.''

''Oh. Oh, I see. Will he write?''

''Yes, Euphrasie. Of course he'll write. He'll write to you, write to me, write to Papa, and write to Camille.'' Cosette says.

Euphrasie nods, and walks out of the room, and into Camille's where she finds her sister trying on different gowns for a ball being thrown by yet another young nobleman looking for a bride.

''Oh, Euphrasie. What do you think of this one?'' Camille holds up a strawberry-pink watered silk with a skirt fuller back then front, trimmed in pleats and ruching.

''It's very nice, Camille.'' Euphrasie answers, shrugging lightly. Camille turns back to the floor-length mirror, and purses her lips.

''It's too plain. I want to make a statement. Perhaps-'' she puts down the pink silk and pulls out a petal pink satin ball-gown with tulle petticoats and the skirt pulled back and gathered prettily. ''Hmn, perhaps this would do, with the ruby and diamond necklace Papa gave me for my last birthday.'' She turns back to Euphrasie. ''Or would pearls suit this better?''

''Whatever you think would be best, dear sister.'' Euphrasie says. Camille looks charming and lovely in anything she wears.

Camille drops the satin and tulle dress and picks up a third. This one isn't pink, it's pale blue faille with apricot and darker blue drapery on the back and lace trimmings. The neck is low, and there is ruching and pleating at the sleeves.

''Maybe this one. Now, Euphrasie, what did you come to my room for?'' To tell the truth, she has quite forgotten what she came to Camille's room for, and says lamely, ''I can't seem to decide which dress I should wear to the ball. Could you help me choose?''

''Of course, Euphrasie. I should be delighted to offer my assistance on the matter.'' And Camille heads off to Euphrasie's room, with Euphrasie in tow. There Euphrasie shows Camille some of her ballgowns, and Camille helps her select a gown.

''This one, most certainly. It won't clash with whatever I shall be wearing, and it suits you, dear little rose.'' Camille announces, using her pet name for her sister, holding up a mint green satin gown with lace flounces on the underskirt and an apron overskirt, drawn back with ribbons and bustling.

''And should I wear jewelry?'' Euphrasie wonders out loud. After all, Raoul had bought her a very pretty pearl and sapphire necklace last Yuletide, when he'd returned home from the expedition. It might look very pretty against the green satin.

Camille sighs. ''If you want to, dear sister.'' Euphrasie takes the gown from Camille, and holds it up against her body. Yes, this will look lovely on her, and with the necklace, her hair in curls...she could be the bell of the ball, alongside her sister. Of course, she will be. They both will be.


	3. 2: Life worth living

**Roxane Roxwell is portrayed by Natalie Portman, and Kathleen is Eleanor Tomlinson.**

* * *

Raoul steps off the ship and onto the dock of New Orleans. The buildings are carved of stone and adorned in lacy metalwork, and people are bustling about the streets.

''Welcome to America, Mr Vicomte.'' Mr Weston, his relative Mr Ravenswood's lawyer, greets him. Raoul smiles, and shakes Mr Weston's hand. Then he grabs his suitcase, and Mr Weston leads him through the streets. The streets are filled with people, Caucasians and free people of color, from the wealthy to the poor, and Raoul is constantly jostled by people struggling to get through the crowd.

Finally, they reach his relative's mansion, and Raoul puts his suitcase down, staring up at the gloomy, grey-stoned mansion.

''This is it, Ravenswood Manor.'' Mr Weston says, gesturing at the large walls of stone that rise above them.

''Ravenswood Manor? That's a rather foreboding name.'' Raoul remarks, thinking to himself that it looks like something from a gothic novel by the Bronte sisters or Mary Shelley, perhaps.

''Well, Mr Vicomte, your relative Mr Ravenswood was a rather foreboding man.'' Mr Weston replies, and pushes open the wrought iron gates. ''Come along, Mr Vicomte. You want to see what your new home looks like, don't you?'' Mr Weston beckons to him, and Raoul sighs, picks up his suitcase, and follows Mr Weston inside.

The inside of Ravenswood Manor is as gloomy as the outside, Raoul thinks, with portraits on the walls of family members from days gone by, and it is all very dark, like a tomb. A young woman, who introduces herself as the housekeeper, comes to greet him.

''Monsieur Vicomte.'' she says, and takes his suitcase from him. ''Welcome to Ravenswood Manor. I'm Roxane Roxwell, the housekeeper.''

''Thank you, Miss Roxwell. I'm glad to be here, I suppose.'' Raoul smiles. ''Would you care to show me to my room, so that I may unpack?''

''Oh, of course. Come with me, Monsieur Vicomte. You'll be staying in Miss Ravenswood's old room.''

''Miss Ravenswood?'' Raoul questions. Miss Roxwell turns and nods at him, her blue-gray eyes taking on an air of terror. The same sort of look he saw in Meg's eyes on the rooftop, after Joseph Bouquet's-no, don't think about it. She should be nothing to you anymore.

''Your relative's wife.'' she says. ''Lilliana Ravenswood, _nee_ 'O' Malley. She died some ten years ago, leaving her husband a cruel man, with no heir. Then again, he was always a cruel man.'' Miss Roxwell leads Raoul up the stairs and into a lushly carpeted room with paintings on the walls of a rather vulgar nature. Vulgar enough to make Raoul tuck his head down and stare at the floral-patterned carpet.

Miss Roxwell glances behind her, and smiles. ''I really can't say your relative was faithful to Miss Ravenswood. I can have the pictures taken down, if you like.''

''No, leave them. Just get me something to cover them with.'' Raoul tells her, and she hands him his suitcase, and he places it on the plump bed, about ready to open it. Miss Roxwell nods, and walks to the door.

She pauses to say ''I'll leave you to it, then. I hope you enjoy your stay here.'' And she shuts the door behind her. Raoul begins to unpack jackets and shirts and vests and trousers, and hangs them in the closet, taking care not to look at the paintings. When he has finished, he shuts the closet, shuts his suitcase, and tucks it under the bed.

That evening, he eats dinner alone, and he finds that the cook here is as good a one as the cook back home, making peas and ham, pumpkin soup, and pecan pie, an American dish, which he finds very delicious. After the dinner is finished and the plates cleared away, he is surprised to discover that his relative had a piano, although he decides not to touch it. Too many memories, even after five years. Perhaps he will use it later, for a good instrument should not go unplayed.

He heads upstairs, says a prayer for his family, another for Meg and her family, and falls asleep.

The next day, Mr Weston comes to have him sign some legal papers, which he does, and shows Raoul around New Orleans afterward. That evening he writes a letter to hs parents, telling them he has arrived safely and has taken possession of the house, and another to Euphrasie and Camille, asking how they are, and how their social life is faring.

The next two days pass in something of a blur, and Raoul finds he is quite bored, and he has read most of the books in his relative's small library. There are some books he refuses to open, as he has taken one look inside, and shut the book, blushing. Perhaps he will read them if he meets some girl in New Orleans, and marries her. After all, he does want to please his future wife, whomever she may be.

Mr Weston visits again, to see how he is settling in, and mentions that should he ever want to amuse himself at night, he knows the perfect place. At first Raoul refuses to take the other man up on his offer, feeling that he must stay faithful to-what does it matter, now that Meg is married to someone else? Raoul remembers all too well his vivid dreams when he was in the expedition, when he was in the war of them, laughing, fucking, laughing at him-why does he bother to stay faithful to a girl who has left him for someone else?

Meg would want him to be happy, he thinks, watching the fire in the fireplace. She would want him to enjoy himself. With that in mind, the next time Mr Weston comes to visit, he says, ''I think I should like you to show me where I can amuse myself'', hoping Mr Weston will understand what he means, and the older man nods, meaning he does.

''Tonight.'' Mr Weston says, before leaving. ''I can promise you you'll have a good time.'' and off he goes, making Raoul wonder what he has gotten himself into. That night, Raoul goes with Mr Weston to a large house, which rests on a darkened street, and when Mr Weston pushes open the door, Raoul follows him in.

Raoul is taken aback by how bright the place looks, by how colourful it is. It instantly reminds him of the Opera Populaire, but Mr Weston tugs him along to meet the owner, and he shakes the thought from his head.

The owner is a beautiful black-haired woman garbed in midnight blue silk, trimmed in cream tulle, who invites them to pick any of her girls.

Mr Weston selects what Raoul assumes is his usual girl, an Irish thing with hair the color of fire and eyes like emeralds, and they disappear into a room.

''You're new to these things, Monsieur?'' the owner asks, and he nods shyly, a hand playing with the sleeve of his jacket.

''I'm afraid I am.''

''Then I will pick for you.'' she smiles, and after looking around, she walks over to a brown-haired young woman. The girl looks oddly familiar, and Raoul thinks that he has seen her before. The owner takes the girl's hand, and brings her over to him. ''This is Christine. She's very good with newcomers.'' the owner says, and Raoul nods in acceptance.

**XXX**

It is a normal night at the brothel, so far for Christine, and then she sees two men come in. One of the men she knows, a lawyer, Mr Weston, and he selects Kathleen, as he normally does.

The other, Christine thinks, has a face she has seen before. She knows she's seen him somewhere. Back in Paris, she thinks, but where in Paris? The owner, Desiree Bastian, chats with him for a bit, and then she walks over to Christine.

''He's never been with a girl before.'' Desiree whispers, hand clasping the sleeve of Christine's lace gown, worn over a boned white corset, that worn over a low-cut, sheer chemise and sheer white stockings.

Of course, Christine is an expert in these matters. It is easy to take a man's virginity after you have lost your own, she reflects. Desiree takes Christine by the hand, and brings her over to the young man.

Up close, she can study him better as Desiree introduces her. His hair is long and golden, with a curl at the end, face finely chiseled, and eyes as blue as sapphires. She has seen him before, and she knows it. Christine takes the young man by the hand, and leads him to a room, where she closes the door behind them. She turns, and the young man hesitates.

''I suppose I should take these off?'' he asks, and now Christine recognizes his voice. Any man may have golden hair and blue eyes, but only one man can have that voice, gentle, earnest, and caring. The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

But what is he doing here, in New Orleans? Where is Meg? And worst of all, the most shocking thing about this, is that there is no wedding ring on his finger. The Vicomte, he was in love with Meg. Surely he would not- Christine does not know what to think. For now, she decides to focus on the task at hand.

''Go on.'' she coaxes, and the Vicomte begins to remove his jacket, and unbutton his vest after he takes his jacket off. She slips her gown off her shoulders, and it drops to the floor. The Vicomte stares at her figure, and Christine guesses he's never seen a half-naked woman before. She heads over to him, and takes his face in her hands and kisses him hard. He kisses her back, quite hard, and it is one thing he knows how to do, at least. Then Christine parts his mouth open with her tongue, and slips her tongue inside, lapping at the side of his mouth.

Her hands drop from his face and go to his shirt, and unbuttons it till it exposes his well-muscled chest, and then the Vicomte pulls away, and reaches for her corset. Christine turns around and lets him unlace it, and it drops to the floor, then she pushes him back until he hits the bed, and smiling knowingly, unbuckles his belt, sliding his trousers down over his hips.

The Vicomte gasps, and he mutters, ''Stop. Stop.'' Christine pulls her hands away from him and glances at him.

''What's wrong.'' she asks.

''What are you-what are you going to do?'' he asks, rather breathily. The poor boy.

Christine smiles sweetly at him, and remarks, ''There's no need to fear. I'm just going to pleasure you, that's all.'' She drops to her knees, tugs his trousers down a bit more, and takes his cock into her mouth. She licks a long stripe up him, and he moans, a hand gripping her shoulder. One hand grips his hip as she takes more of him into her mouth, and when she glances up at him, his eyes are closed and his head is thrown back in pleasure. She continues to licks and suck at him until, finally, she can feel him come, and she pulls away from him, swallowing.

Then she stands up, and the Vicomte takes a rather shaky breath, sitting down on the bed.

''Oh.'' he breathes. ''Oh, god.'' He looks up at her, and says ''That was my first.''

She kisses him again, but this time breaks away before he can kiss her back and kisses the edge of his jaw, before trailing kisses down his neck and throat. When she kisses a particular spot on his throat, Raoul bolts up and asks her not to touch there. She nods, understanding in her eyes, and shifts her center, sliding onto his cock. Raoul moans at the feeling. God, she is so wet. So very wet, he thinks. And wet reminds him of water and water reminds him of- no, don't think about it! Please don't think about it!

Don't think about that night when you stood in the water to save the girl who you thought had loved you, when that monster threw the rope around your neck-those days are over!

He starts when he hears ''Is that why you didn't want me to touch your throat?'' Raoul then realizes he has said that out loud.

Christine is ready to teach the boy to take a woman, and then he says something shocking, something that partially explains what happened to Meg. She asks, and he bolts, blue eyes meeting her brown ones.

''I had a fiancee.'' he explains. ''We were going to be married. But there was this man, this so-called opera ghost, he tried to burn down the opera house, and he nearly strangled me when I tried to save her. She stayed with him to save my life.'' That is just the sort of thing Meg would do, Christine thinks. That explains the absence of the wedding-ring, too. And then she pushes her hips against him and his hands come up to twist in her hair.

''Good boy.'' she tells him. ''Good boy.'' He hesitantly thrusts up into her, and she lets out a long, low moan. ''Oh, yes. That's it, go on.'' His hands loosen from her ringlets of hair, and slide the straps of her chemise off her shoulders, and it drops to reveal a full, plump bosom, the fabric catching pertly on the tips. Christine smiles, and grasps the sides, and yanks it off her head.

She wears only her stockings now, and one of his hands hesitantly skates from her shoulder, down the soft flesh of her breast, down her waist, and slides along the top of her thigh, as he sits up a little.

The girl's flesh is soft, like silk, Raoul thinks, and he wants never to remove his hand from it. He takes the edge of the girl's stocking, and rolls it down her leg in such a manner to make her moan, until her leg is bare against his hip, and repeats the process with the other. Then the girl rests her hands on his shoulders, and flips him so he is on top of her.v

Her hand tangles in his golden hair and brings his head down to press a kiss to her breast, and he flicks his tongue softly against the pert tip.

''Tell me to stop.'' he begs, unsure if he is doing it right. He wants to, so much! Christine laughs, and tells him he is doing it right. Encouraged thus, he does the same to the other breast, and when he looks at Christine, she can see that his eyes are dark, nearly black with desire.

They are still joined together at the hips, and he thrusts in, slowly. ''Harder.'' she tells him, and he obliges, and goes deeper into her so as to fill her, and thrusts again and again.

**XXX**

When they are done, she dresses and he laces her corset, and pulls back on his vest and jacket. Mr Weston should be done by now, Raoul thinks.

''Thank you.'' Raoul tells her, and leaves, and he finds Mr Weston waiting for him.

''Did you enjoy yourself?'' Mr Weston asks, and Raoul nods, yes, he did. They go their separate ways, and Raoul wonders where he has seen that girl before.


	4. 4:At the Ball

Euphrasie is enjoying herself at a ball for the first time in her life, and she thinks she may have drunk more champagne then she was supposed to. She is lovely in the mint green, with the pearl and sapphire necklace around her neck, and her blonde hair, which, like Raoul, she inherited from their Maman, is swept up in short curls, adorned with pearl and sapphire pins.

Camille looks gorgeous in the petal-pink ball-dress, with the ruby and diamond necklace looped around her own neck. When she turns in a waltz, the tulle petticoats of the dress flare out around her prettily.

Euphrasie has danced more times then Camille, for once, waltzes, and polkas, and reels, one after the other until her head swims and her feet are sore.

Finally, she heads to the refreshment table, and notices some delicious-looking petit-fours. She removes her gloves, not wanting to get them dirty, then selects a square-cut pink frosted one, and bites into it, tasting vanilla cake and raspberry buttercream. She finishes the petit-four in two bites.

''You're enjoying it?'' Camille asks, coming up to Euphrasie. Euphrasie nods, and pulls her gloves back on. She pours a glass of champagne, and drinks it. ''Don't drink too much of that, Euphrasie.''

''I don't intend to.'' Euphrasie replies sweetly. And she sets the glass down on the table, while Camille pops a petit-four into her mouth. ''Who's that?'' she then asks, pointing at a handsome young man, dressed naturally in black and white, with light brown hair.

''I wouldn't know.'' Camille replies. ''He's very handsome, though. Look at those eyes. They're so pretty.'' Euphrasie laughs at that.

''The first thing you look at in a man are his eyes? Get to know him first, Camille. Go and talk to him.'' Euphrasie ushers her sister over to the young man. ''Hello, I'm Euphrasie Pontmercy. This is my sister Camille.'' she introduces herself and her sister.

''Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you.'' the young man nods. ''I'm Andrew. Andrew Bailey.'' his English accent is proper, perfect. Obviously, he is from an upper-class family. An upper-class English family.

''Yes, it's a pleasure for us, as well. Which city in England are you from?'' Camille questions, being more experienced at talking and flirtation then Euphrasie.

''Dover. Lovely little town. '' he replies, and Camille laughs, fluttering her fan of pleated silk flirtatiously.

''Really, how nice.''

''Would you like to dance?'' Andrew asks, and Camille hands her fan to Euphrasie so she can hold it, sweeping off with Andrew to dance a reel.

''How long have you been in Paris?'' Camille asks, looking into his green eyes. Oh, they are lovely. One could become lost in them. He smiles at her.

''Two years. I've grown very fond of it. The last name, Pontmercy, you said? Wasn't there a Colonel Pontmercy fighting for Napoleon in the Napoleonic Wars?'' Camille nods. Yes, that's true. She barely knew her grandfather, considering he died before she was born, and wishes she could have known him. That's what she says to Andrew.

''Such a pity. He must have been a very nice man. Does your father ever talk of him?'' Andrew asks the girl that he's dancing with, thinking she looks like a pink flower in pink silk and tulle and an off-shoulder neckline, hair of a dark red swept into a high braided chignon at the top of her head.

''Papa didn't talk of him, because he didn't even know him very well. My paternal great-grandfather refused to let the Colonel see his son, and Papa only met him on his deathbed.'' Camille confesses, more then a little sad. She wishes her father had been able to know his own. She wishes it with all her heart.

But at least her mother knew her own father, though she did not know her mother. What little Camille knows of her maternal grandmother is very little, indeed. Her mother remembers she was kind and gentle and loving, with long, lovely brown hair, named Fantine. She was a factory worker, later prostitute, so she could feed and clothe her daughter.

But she does not tell Andrew Bailey that. She would never tell anyone that, only that her grandmother was a factory worker. She does not wish to ruin the family name. For she knows she would.

When they have finished, he gets her a glass of punch, and she takes it, smiling. ''Thank you, Monsieur Bailey.'' Euphrasie hopes Camille does not flirt as much as she normally does with some of the men at balls. But where are Maman and Papa? She scans the room for them, and spots them talking to the Duke and Duchess Tremaine, the Duchess a recent arrival on the scene of Parisian society.

She is utterly lovely, all blonde and blue-eyed, much like her brother's lost love, Meg Giry.

The gown she wears is as stunning as the one she graced her husband's wife-choosing ball with-a lovely,_ lovely_ blue silk with a draped and bustled skirt adorned in wreaths of pink flowers. The flowers are roses, Euphrasie thinks, and there is a large blue silk bow topping the large bustle.

There is elegant ruching to highlight her delicate shoulders, the neck is low to show off the tops of her bosom, adorned with a blue silk bow between the valley of her breasts. Her golden hair is twisted in braids and knots atop her head, set with cut crystal combs and her neck is elegant too, and beautifully slender. But the crowning glory are her shoes, when an excited bystander asks to see them.

So Duchess Bonella Tremaine lifts her blue silk skirts and exposes a pair of small, dainty, silk-stockinged feet, clad in the most unusual of slippers. They are not glass, she explains, but rather the heels are crystal, and the body of the dainty shoes is shimmering, stiffened taffeta sewn-no, encrusted with glass beads.

They are lovely, Euphrasie thinks, and compliments the Duchess on the entire ensemble.

Her husband, Duke Christopher Tremaine, stands by his wife's side proudly. They are a charming couple. And they have lovely smiles. Euphrasie finds the Duchess down-to-earth and kind. The Duchess invites her for tea; Euphrasie happily accepts. So this is what Raoul and Meg Giry could have been like, she is sure of it.

The Duke cares not for the murmurs about how his wife married him for his money, and Euphrasie suspects the rumors are entirely untrue. Like her parents, the Duke and Duchess married for love. Marriage for love is becoming the norm these days; Euphrasie believes people will be happier if they can choose who they marry.

Camille comes over with Andrew Bailey on her arm, and introduces him to her parents, who nod politely. She cannot tell what they think of him; her parents do their best at hiding their feelings.

Cosette likes the Duchess Tremaine. And she is happy Euphrasie will make a friend. She has very few, besides her siblings. When Duchess Bonella clasps her husband's hand, and they smile at each other, she sees the younger selves of her and Marius. Joyful, very much in love, happy lives. She and Marius still love each other after all these years, of course. Their love is as strong as it was when they were young. Young love grows and matures with time, of course, and she is sure the Duke and Duchess will have several children running around their feet in no time.

Bonella adores the Dowager Comte and Comtesse. They are very kind, and she supposes they remind her of her parents. Oh, how she misses her parents! But they would be happy to see her now, married and in love. Christopher has a charming cousin who has recently married himself, and stays in the family villa in Napoli. Duke Eric Oceane, who has married a lovely girl with a lovely singing voice, Miss Ariella Mcseavish. Fiery-haired and blue-eyed, Ariella had saved Eric's life when his ship had been caught in a storm and was wrecked off the coast of Ireland.

Bonella had met Ariella at her wedding, and she found her very nice. She hopes and wonders if Ariella and Eric will show up for one of the season's balls. ''They will, dear.'' Christopher whispers in her ear, and Bonella wonders if her husband can read her thoughts.

She smiles, and clasps her husband's hand gently. ''I cannot wait to see them.'' she says, and Christopher agrees.

''Yes, I miss my cousin. And his wife is very charming.''

They bid good-bye to Cosette and Marius and their two lovely daughter, and leave the place, stepping into the coach they arrived in, so reminiscent of the carriage Bonella arrived in to the ball, when she was known as Cinderella. Bonella leans against Christopher's shoulder and closes her eyes lightly. It's nice when you don't have to leave at midnight. You can spend time with your husband.

Christopher's arm wraps around Bonella's shoulder and she smiles.

''You know, my father is pushing us to have a child. He wants to spoil his grandchildren before he goes.'' Christopher says.

''Well, we'll just have to give him his wish, won't we?'' she teases, and cocks her head up so he can kiss her, and kiss her he does. It's a warm, loving kiss, the kind she likes. She pulls away and moves closer to him so she can put her arms around his neck.

''We'll have to stop soon. The coach is getting close to our house.''

''Well, we can easily continue upstairs.'' Bonella smiles. When the coach stops at their house, Christopher helps Bonella out and they head upstairs, where Bonella closes the door of their room behind them. They kiss again, and Christopher quickly unlaces the back of Bonella's ball-dress.

She undoes his tailcoat, waistcoat,cravat, and shirt, and he has already gotten his shoes off, as has she. He unlaces her corset, and she steps out of her drawers and petticoat, and heads to the bed to take off her stockings.

Christopher follows, and kneels at the side of the bed, and reaches for the edge of one stocking. ''Let me help, Ella.'' he offers, using the nickname her father and mother had called her. Bonella nods, and her husband unties the ribbon garter at her knee and rolls down the stocking, then does the same to the other leg. He presses a kiss to her knee, then kisses down her calf, before hoisting himself up and pulling himself on top of her. Drawing up the edge of her chemise, he undoes his trousers, and slides into her, and she wraps her legs about him. Oh, it is sheer heaven. He buries his head into her shoulder, and she mutters ''I love you.'' into his ear.

Afterwards, Christopher and Bonella lie together, arms around each other, and talk of what they might name their children. ''Marie-Aurelie, perhaps for a girl? Or Danielle? That was my mother's name.''

Christopher shrugs. ''Whatever you wish, dear. Both names are lovely.'' And with that in mind, they sleep until the morning.

**XXX**

In the morning, Bonella rises and sneaks down to the kitchen to make tea before her husband wakes up, and when Christopher does, he finds Ella coming through the door with a tray of tea things in her hands. ''Morning, darling.'' she greets him with a smile and a kiss, and he takes the tray from her.

''Shouldn't you get dressed?'' he teases, fingering her blue silk wrapper, edged in ruffles. She laughs, unties the wrapper's sash, and with some assistance from her husband, slips into her day clothes.

Then she pulls her hair back with a sky-blue ribbon while he pours the tea, and hands her the teacup. Bonella lifts the cup to her lips and drinks, as does Christopher, and when they finish, they walk out of the bedroom to begin their daily life. Christopher goes to visit his father, as he does every week, and Bonella goes to have tea with charming Euphrasie Pontmercy.

Euphrasie greets Bonella at the door, dressed in a morning gown of yellow dotted muslin over a brown underskirt with matching polonaise adorned with ruffled side and back panels, golden blonde hair swept on sides up into a twist, and the rest is looped over her shoulder in soft waves.

''Good morning, Duchess. Do come in, please.'' she gestures, and Bonella steps through the open doorway.

''Such a charming house you have! It reminds me of my father's.'' Bonella exclaims, and Euphrasie smiles. Bonella takes off her wide-brimmed hat, and hands it to the butler, following Euphrasie into the parlor, which is all set out for tea. How thoughtful Madmoiselle Pontmercy is! For Bonella is sure that it was she who prepared everything.

''Sit, Duchess. I insist. Euphrasie gestures to a carved wooden chair draped with silk on the seat, sitting down in front of her. Bonella acquiesces, sitting down, spreading out her skirts of blue-green silk, adorned in pleated frills, about her, and plucks up the teapot to pour the tea. There are other things besides the tea, too, to snack on. Small Victoria sponges spread in jam and clotted cream, plain biscuits, small tarts of cranberry, orange, and lemon meringue, and currant scones. Such an array! Bonella helps herself to a tart of orange, the crust thin and crisp, and the filling melts in her mouth.

''Do you like the tarts?'' Euphrasie asks. ''I made them myself.''

Bonella says yes. ''The orange's lovely. Should I try the cranberry or the lemon next?''

''Whichever one you like.'' Euphrasie giggles, and drinks her tea, dipping a biscuit into it. It is nice to have made a friend. Camille can be so snobby at times. Where she gets it from, Euphrasie does not know.

''Is your mother at home?'' Bonella questions, swallowing the last bit of her orange tart. Euphrasie nods. ''Sewing in her room. Camille went to visit friends. And my brother's moved to New Orleans.''

Ah, yes. She had not met him, but her husband had, when he'd come back from the war. Christopher thought he had been a very nice young man.

Euphrasie hesitates, and finally asks, ''Is it true you had a fairy godmother to help you go to the ball? That's what some of Camille's friends say.''

Bonella chuckles. ''In a way, she was a fairy godmother. She's my dear aunt. We met when I was out riding, and when my stepmother refused to let me go to the ball, she helped me.'' she explains.

''Oh, how sweet.'' Euphrasie sighs. ''How very sweet.''


End file.
